Our Man in Paris, Ric Erickson, editor of MetropoleParis, attends a book party. Our mutual friend, Heather Stimmler-Hall, has just published a new, naughty book about Paris.

A Woof for All Seasons

Paris - Saturday, August 2 - Tonight's TV-news said that four million were leaving Paris by train and at one time during the day traffic jams on the autoroutes totaled 450 kilometres. I hooked up with Uncle at the Rendez-Vous, where he was talking to a pal at the bar in the nearly empty café. They agreed that the Comédia was more fun but ordered more drinks anyway.

Finally Uncle said we had to go and the pal said, "Woof!" If you are in a strange bar in France and nobody seems to be interested in your order, just 'woof' at them. You either get a drink or get thrown out. Remember 'woof' if you are thirsty.

Heather the Lovely has resurfaced. She has been underground for about three years, writing a tome titled, 'Naughty Paris - The Lady's Guide to the Sexy City.' A couple of days ago she wrote to say that the first copies had arrived from a very famous Asian country after a long sea voyage, and that she was hosting a pre-launch fête tonight at a joint called the Curio Parlor in the Quartier Latin.

I had the address, which mentioned there was no sign on the bar. It didn't say anything about the stuffed raccoon in the window beside the green door. We looked in but there was no Heather yet, so we walked the rest of the block to the quay to have a gander at the sky's light show and the string of bateaux mouches threading through the south arm of the Seine. We supposed all the people we saw ashore and aboard were not Parisians.

Back at the Curio Parlor Heather was there, as thin as ever, maybe thinner then the first time we met about 10 years ago. She said she was wearing summer clothes. I could almost see that behind the sunbeam of her smile. We put ourselves in a cubby, a snug, and shot some photos. It was sexy place, poorly ventilated.

I spent all afternoon setting up the camera for the flash. Probably the best way to do it is leave everything on default and push the trigger. I did it the other way. Flash, flash, shutter-boop, flash flash, and repeat once automatically. It was like war. Heather's brave smile froze.

Contrary to planning more folks kept pouring in until we were booted to the sexy and intimate cave at the bottom of a wooden stairway. There Heather said that she had personally researched every location mentioned in the new book - all the sexy underwear shops and exotic massage salons. In case readers think she missed anything she said, "There's no room for extra words."

Which is what it was in the cellar. "I thought maybe five people would show up," Heather said. Outside, beyond the no-name green door, fresh but still air on the sidewalk smoking zone. People arriving from Montmartre and Los Angeles. Right off the jet and into this sexy city. Little cigars from tins and rollers, puff, puff, the smoke drifting upwards. Tourists passing, not used to congregations in the dark, harmless.

Inside the drinkers settled down, upstairs and downstairs. Loud music, for the iPod crowd. Dark too, perched on settees, they ran out of orange juice, gave me half a glass on the house. But where was Uncle? Did I look everywhere? While I was out I didn't see him leave. He could have sneaked out while I was in the cellar, where I'd seen him last, talking about theatre in San Francisco.

Trust him to get lost in this sexy city. Or maybe he got found. Did he buy an advance copy of the book? Just the ticket for finding sexy ladies in Paris.